


Burn

by Oparu



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13237020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: Phil worries about Melinda when her leg becomes infected on the Lighthouse. Hurt/comfort.





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

> this assumes she didn't disappear, and the station is filthy, so I couldn't help wondering what they'd do if it was infected.

She doesn't lie. May never says she's fine, never smiles and brushes off anyone's concern with the fact that she's all right. She soldiers on, always does. She's never late for a trawler flight, always does her duty.

That makes it worse. The limp dogs her. Instead of getting better, on the fourth day it's a little worse. She fought on that leg, bled for them, and he can't even find her the most basic of antibiotics. They have to have something here, couldn't keep this many people in such close quarters without it, but Yo-Yo hasn't found it yet. They couldn't even buy it until they grind out enough money from Gril. 

"It's slow," she promises. "It's not spreading." 

On the fifth day, her skin's a little too warm. She's cold after breakfast, and it doesn't help that the trawler's not the warmest place. 

"Take my jacket."

"Phil--"

"It's plenty warm in the crusher room." 

For a moment, she leans against his chest, forehead resting on his shoulder and he touches her back, wishing he could do something. Anything. "We'll take care of it. It'll be all right."

She keeps her head down, sighs. "It hurts." 

"I know." Infections throb like liquid fire, and he has nothing to give her. Not even whiskey. "I'll see what I can find." 

"Don't get us into trouble."

"Me?" His most charming smile does make her smile back. "Never. I'm persuasive." Phil touches her shoulder. "See you after work." 

She steps back, biting her lip. The wince there is more than yesterday, and she lingers rather than leaving to start flying the trawler through the mess of space. He has to do to better, help her anyway he can. "I'll see you soon." 

Maybe there's some moonshine he can rustle up. Anything to take the edge off for awhile so Melinda can fight a little less hard to stay on her feet. 

He coaxes her to eat some of his dinner, reminds her to drink more water. "You've got to fight this off, stay with me, like you're floating in the bay waiting for rescue." The bandage on her thigh is damp with the discharge they can't stop and she can barely tolerate his fingers near it while he tries to keep it clean. She hisses, bites her lip, eventually just shuts her eyes. 

"It's not good."

"We'll make it work." 

"If it goes septic--" She drags his eyes up to meet hers, away from her leg. 

"No." Phil starts to look away, back at the wound, maybe there's something he can fix, something he can do. 

She touches his chin, making him look at her. Her eyes are too dark and too bright.  "Just get home, okay? Get them home." 

"We're all going home." He stares at her long enough that she must see through him. "All of us." His fingers must be too close because she winces, hissing in sharp. 

Phil wishes they had Simmons, but between them they must know something about first aid. There has to be something they can do. Something must keep people alive here. Tree bark, honey, some kind of hydrogen peroxide they use to clean machinery, that they can get and dilute. He makes sure she's comfortable, hovers until he has to go find something else to do. 

She's too tired to say anything when he gets up, and he touches her shoulder again, just making sure. "Sleep."

"You say that like it's easy."

"I trust you. You do really hard things well."

Melinda grits her teeth when she lies down and he crouches next to the hard, lumpy little bed. 

"It'll be all right."

"I hate it when you say that."

"No you don't." He touches her shoulder one more time. "Sleep."

* * *

 

Outside with Mack and Elena, he has to keep his face calm, still, but he fails immediately. They know, they're sharp. 

Elena nods to him. "I'll see what I can find." Her metric will be on the fritz again, and Gril might get suspicious. He'll take it off again, she'll be able to look around. They won't be able to try that trick more than a handful of times, but maybe she can get down to hydroponics, find something. He'll take what he can get at this point. 

"There might be some hydrogen peroxide, it's good for cleaning. I'll keep a look out. See what I can get from our rations." Mack looks down, then back up. "She's tough."  

"She already has a fever, maybe if we can get that down." He sinks to the floor, hands on his knees. "She'll be all right." He has to be hopeful, keep it together, for her, for them, it's so hard when they have nothing. They just got back from the Framework, just got home, and barely had time to breathe and share some pie. 

"Here, this is the last of our water. Elena and I will see what we can save tomorrow." 

Phil wants to tell them to look after themselves, they'll all be here a long time. None of them can afford to be vulnerable, but he's grateful. She needs it. They need her; he does, most of all. 

He misses Fitz, but being here without May would be intolerable. Impossible. Phil should sleep somewhere else, but he knows she's not asleep. He's only ever had one wound go bad, and it hurt so much he could barely sleep through morphine, and here he's having trouble getting her enough water. 

Back in little cabin that's hers because pilots are important, he crouches down by the bed, praying she's asleep. Melinda opens her eyes, smiling for him, trying to make him feel better. 

"You look worse than I feel." 

"Well that's not fair," he teases, sitting on the side of the bed. He opens his mouth to start to ask if he can stay, but she nods before he speaks. 

"Stay." Melinda moves a little, making space without wincing. 

"Yeah?" Taking off his boots, he tries to remember the last time they shared a bed. Plenty of floors, backs of vans, sometimes on assignment. "You hog the blankets."

"You're warm enough." 

"Tonight you're warm." He doesn't need to ask her permission, because Melinda snuggles in close. 

"It's bad, Phil."

"I know." Her skin's hot and dry against his, and he pulls the blankets up, trying to help her fever do its work. "We'll figure something out."

"It never stops, not for an moment." Her voice drops, and a type of exhaustion he rarely hears from her seeps in cold and grey as the metal all around them.

"I promise I will get you that night in your own bed." He finds her hand and squeezes it for emphasis. "Soon."

Melinda shuts her eyes, curling into him. He holds her close, because she lets him, want him, and it's all he can do. She just needs to stay with them, with him, long enough that they can get back, that Fitz can fix this and they can go home. 

"You don't need to protect me," she says, soft and still.

He shakes his head and winds their hands closer together. "Yes, I do."    
  



End file.
